Don't Move
by Nash Carter
Summary: A somewhat unusual POV. Just because I was home sick and couldn't get that scene out of my head after watching "The; Committee".; No warnings. Nobody gets hurt, language is not too bad. Unusual for me, I know...


Don't Move

by nash

Sometimes - not very often, I'll admit - sometimes, I absolutely hate to be right.

Like this time. Those three murders - executions, in fact - made me highly suspicious. All three men had been found with their wrists tied behind their backs, with wire, no less. All had been shot in the head. And nobody seemed to be in much of a hurry to find the killer or killers. The fact that all three victims had not been too respectable members of the society might have something to do with it. Granted, they were scum, but that didn't give anybody the right to use them for target practice. They have rights. And one of those rights is the representation by an attorney.

Which is where I come in. The latest victim was my client. And while personally I may think he is vermin, that doesn't change the fact that as his assigned counsel, it is my job to see to it that he gets off as easily as possible.

Too bad not everybody is able to separate their personal feelings from their job like that.

Take those two cops, for example. Hutchinson and Starsky. It's not like they are not good at what they do, they are. Very good, indeed. They are both well trained, highly dedicated, police officers. But the 'highly dedicated' part is what causes the most problems. Especially with Starsky. From what I hear, they are willing to give their everything in the line of duty. And they take it personal when somebody they arrested gets out on bail. I'm not surprised they hate my guts.

But while Hutchinson keeps his opinion mostly to himself, Starsky is more than willing to let everybody know what he thinks. Like in the court house. after I got Paul Willits out on bail. Not that I care about this character too much, mind you. But I'm good at my job, and I take pride in it. The way I see it, the police is there to catch criminals, the courts are there to punish criminals, and lawyers are there to defend... the innocent. And according to our constitution, everybody is innocent until proven guilty by a court of law. That's the way our system works. Now, Starsky didn't seem to see it that way. It was almost like he took it as a personal insult that Mr. Willits was granted bail. He actually had the gall to call him a rapist right there in the court house corridor, where everybody could hear him. Of course, I had to remind him that my client had not been found guilty yet. Would you believe that Detective Starsky actually used the term 'capital punishment' in the same sentence as the name of my client? Unbelievable, the audacity of that man. His partner tried to calm him down, but don't let that fool you. He was of the same mind as Starsky, he just chose not to voice his opinion, at least not with words.

Then, I had this little chat with Lt. Fargo from Internal Affairs about my suspicion that the murders had been, indeed, committed by a group of vigilantes consisting of police officers. And since I knew that Hutchinson and Starsky were the investigating officers, I also voiced my opinion on that part - namely, that they deliberately turned their heads, covered their fellow officers' backs, or maybe were involved in the killings.

Now, Hutchinson got pretty riled at the accusations I made against Starsky. But Starsky himself, he didn't say a word to the charges - that he hadn't identified himself when arresting my client, that he had beat him half to death during the arrest - he just got on my case again. To use his own words, he 'got on a soapbox' about me caring more about 'the turkeys I represent' than their innocent victims. Now, I'll admit he is very passionate about what he feels is right, but I strongly object to being called names. Though I have the strong suspicion that he privately he used stronger words that what he said out loud.

Needless to say that his tirade didn't allay my suspicions about their involvement in the killings one bit.

Sometimes - not very often, I'll admit - sometimes, I absolutely hate to be right. Hmm. Didn't I say that before?

It's still true.

It seems like only yesterday that we had this dispute in Lt. Fargo's office. And now, I find at least some of my suspicions confirmed. The vigilantes are, indeed, police officers. How do I know? One of them is kneeling in my back, tying my wrists with wire, after gagging me with a kitchen towel. The wire is so tight, I can hardly feel my fingers. Or maybe the pain in my wrists from where the wire cuts into my flesh distracts every bit of feeling I might have in my hands. And that is not the worst of it.

The worst is the fear. Fear like I've never known before. I know the MO of the vigilante killers. I studied the files. And that's how I know that I will die within the hour.

For a moment my mind goes back to the girl Willits and Billings raped and killed. _Allegedly_ raped. Did she feel like this before it happened? But I can't spare too many thoughts for her fate, I'm too busy thinking about my own imminent death, as the vigilante cop pulls me to my feet and pushes me to the door. The front door of my own house. How could I have been so stupid, I wonder. Why did I open the door for this officer, when I _knew_ what was going on in this town? Oh, I know why. Because I really don't see me in the same category as the murdered crim... _suspects_. Obviously, the vigilantes do.

A squad car is parked in the driveway. And if I thought I was scared before, that fear grows tenfold as I am forced to the waiting car. Then they push me onto the back seat, and I catch a glimpse at the man on the passenger seat.

Starsky.

My stomach takes a ten story drop. Despite what I had said to him in the court house or in Fargo's office, I didn't really believe he was a vigilante. A loose cannon, sure. But not a cold blooded murderer. Dedicated to his sworn duty to protect the innocent, but not above the law. Of course I had heard the rumors about just why he was on suspension, everybody knew about that. And despite my opinions on this particular officer of the law, I found it difficult to believe that he had actually shot and killed Ward Billings in cold blood.

See, last year there was some trouble with an ex-con by the name of George Prudholm. Two armed men robbed a liquor store, and one of them attempted to shoot Starsky. Now there were lots of innocent bystanders around, and even I can't find any fault with Starsky shooting him. The problems started when one of the witnesses came up with the idea that the hold up man had attempted to surrender. Matters were made worse by the fact that the robber was a 16 year old local boy. A public coroner's inquest was held, and I was naturally curious. In a strictly professional manner, of course. And since I was in the court house anyway, there was no reason not to indulge that curiosity. I'm sure he didn't see me, but I was there, watching him and his partner and all the witnesses. The verdict was of course that Starsky had done nothing wrong. What impressed me most, was his demeanor during the whole hearing. His testimony was strictly matter of fact, knowing that he had done what he had to, but at the same time deeply regretting the outcome.

I wasn't there, but I bet there were enough opportunities to shoot Prudholm during the arrest, and nobody would ever know. But he didn't. And from what I hear, it might have been better if he had, rumor has it that Prudholm killed his fiancé not so long ago.

Is that why he now resorts to vigilantism? It could be, but it's still hard to believe. And even if he is one of them, will he just kill me like the others? I'm not a criminal, I want to scream. I'm just doing my job, just like you do yours. But the gag in my mouth prevents me from making any articulate sounds, all that comes out are pitiful whimpers. I feel like crying, but my body uses all the moisture it has for sweat. Good thing too, or I would probably soil my pants. Not that it would make any difference in the outcome, but it would be even more humiliating than it already is.

Starsky is told to drive, while the second officer, the one on the back seat, pushes me down so I can't be seen from the outside. I've never felt this hopeless. Two uniformed officers, plus Starsky. Either one of them would have been more than enough for me. I don't fight with my fists. Never did. That's what I have my brain and my mouth for. But against these three, my usual arsenal won't help.

With my nose pressed into the upholstery of the back seat, my back bent uncomfortably, all I can do is listen. Listen to the sounds of the car, of the traffic around us, listen to the breathing of the other occupants of the car, listen to the beating of my own heart. Some part of me relishes that sound especially, knowing it would not be there for too much longer. Then Starsky starts talking.

"He's my initiation, huh?" So he wasn't part of the group until now, after all. I don't know why, but that is somewhat of a relief. Like not everything is lost yet.

"We thought you'd like it." That was the officer who had taken me from my apartment. His words, spoken in a cold, callous voice, gave me the chills. What if Starsky really liked the idea?

"Yeah, but a couple of things I'm not so hot about." _Yeah!_ What was he talking about? I know, he told me himself he hates my guts, but did he actually hate me enough to kill me? No, I tell myself, Starsky is too good a cop to do that... I hope.

"Well it's no skin off me if Garner buys it, but I'm not so sure I like the idea of killing a defenseless man." If that other cop's words caused a chill run down my back, Starsky's just about take away what little composure I have left. It's hard to believe the man who uttered these cruel words is the same who got angry at the world on behalf of the victims he encountered in his work, the man who beat himself up over having to shoot an armed felon who was about to shoot him or a dozen innocent bystanders. I want to believe it is all an act, but if it is, he deserves an academy award for it. But at least he doesn't like the idea of killing a defenseless man. Though for the life of me I can't think of just how that will help me.

Then, what little hope had dared flaring up at Starsky's reluctance, is stomped out by Officer Cold Heart on the passenger seat. "You'll get used to it."

I struggle to get up, voice my protest at this treatment, but all I got for my trouble was the other cop's mocking retort. "Objection overruled, counselor." He pushes me back down on the seat without too much trouble. And I'd love to say I put up a fight, but it could hardly be called that. A day old kitten would have been more trouble than I am. I don't remember ever being so close to tears.

Then, again a tiny ray of hope. "What if I decline?" Starsky seems more reluctant to this whole thing that I realized. Maybe there is still a chance.

But as before, this little bit of hope doesn't last long. Again it's Officer Cold Heart who does the honors. "Then there's gonna be a double execution. We can't afford any window shoppers. Now, we were told you were one of us."

"Oh, I am one of you. I'm just glad to know I got company." Somehow, I don't quite believe Starsky's last statement. But it makes no difference. If he doesn't kill me, they kill him. And there is just no chance that he will consider me worthy of that risk. After all, I represent - literally - all that he fights against. He detests me. Hates me. And even if not. It's my life or his. If somebody tells you to do something or get killed, you do it. Nobody would refuse under these circumstances. How can I expect Starsky to spare my life if his is on the line? Still, I'm not completely convinced of his loyalty to his new friends.

I wonder how many of them are there?

Seems Starsky also wants to know. "Say, how exclusive is this committee?"

Officer Cold Heart is through with talking. "Just drive."

Somewhere along the way from my apartment to here - wherever here is - I must have lost my sense of time. It seems we've been driving for an eternity, and at the same time, it feels like we just started. I can't wait for this drive to end, to get up and out of this car and breathe some air again. At the same time, I wish we would never stop, because I know, once we stop, I'm as good as dead. So his next words come as a bit of a shock. "In here." Oh God, no. We've reached our destination. The place where the execution will take place. _My_ execution.

I still can't see, but the road feels different. Like we are driving on gravel or something like that. The next thing I know, we stop, and I'm roughly pulled out of the car. We are in some kind of tunnel, and I know that nobody will find my body for a long time if this is where they will leave me. The headlights are still on, and the cop that was sitting beside me all the time pushes me further into the tunnel, pulling his gun. This is actually the first time somebody points a gun at me. I'm aware of the pathetic whimpers I make, and ashamed of my weakness, but unable to stop it.

Now. It will happen now. I know it. And Starsky's face isn't giving away anything. He looks completely calm, like this is something he does all the time. You know the saying, 'cool as a cucumber'? I thought I understood that, but I was wrong. _Now_ I understand it. Right at this moment, there are two possibilities.

One, Starsky really wants to join the vigilantes. He considers killing me by way of initiation an added bonus and is looking forward to it. Or he doesn't care one way or the other. Anyway, he is going to kill me to get what he wants.

Two, he doesn't really want to belong to this group, but can't refuse to join because they kill him if he does. So he pretends to be okay with everything and kills me to save his own life.

Both possibilities leave me dead in the end.

Then the time has come. Way too soon. Officer Cold Heart tells him to, "Go on."

Starsky's face is absolutely unreadable as he holds out his hand towards the other cop and says, "Give me a piece."

At this moment, another man arrives at the scene, calling from the shadows in the dark tunnel, "Not that one, Starsky." He must have left his car a little closer to the tunnel entrance, we - or at least, I - didn't even hear him come. But his voice sounded vaguely familiar, like I should know the guy. And I did. As he approached, in his gray suit and loafers, I could tell Starsky recognized him, too. And he didn't want to believe it any more than I did.

"This one." Stopping at the bumper of the squad car, he puts one bullet into the cylinder of a gun, then looks straight at the man who is chosen to end my life. "What's the matter, Starsky, surprised?"

Obviously, he is. And so am I. The last man I expected to be behind all these killings is _Lt. Fargo._ Lt. Fargo, who I talked to about my suspicions about Starsky and the rest of the department. _He_ has ordered my execution? Maybe I'm not quite the judge of character I always thought I am.

Fargo tosses the gun to the ground and it lands about half way between the squad car and me. "One shot, that's all you'll need." As it clatters to the ground, I actually jump a little. Like it would bite me. Or fire on its own. Stupid, I know, but I'm not going to pretend that at this moment I'm having all my wits about me. This bullet Fargo just put in the cylinder is the one that will implant itself in my head within the next few minutes.

Without even looking at me, he keeps talking to Starsky. Like I'm not even there, or like I'm not worthy of his attention. That's probably it. I know Starsky hates me, but I begin to understand that it's nothing compared to how Fargo feels about me. I'm not exactly sure what Starsky thinks about me, but for the IA Lieutenant I'm obviously at about the same level as a cockroach. At least that's what it feels like. The only thing he cares about at the moment, is talking one homicide detective into committing homicide.

"It won't be traced. Tomorrow morning it'll be back where it came from, the confiscated weapons room at headquarters."

His next words absolutely threw me. "Pick it up, fink." _Fink!_ What was he talking about? Seems the other two vigilante cops were just as surprised, judging from the looks on their faces. "Oh, that's right. He's a cover cop. He's tricked us. But that's not gonna change a thing. We're still gonna give him a chance to join us."

For the first time since I was taken from my home, I start thinking about something other than my immediate future and how short it will be. Starsky. If he was undercover, that probably means he was not really involved in the death of Paul Willits. Well, I had not really believed that anyway. It means that not only did he not turn his head about these killings, but also went so far as to put his own life at risk to infiltrate a group of dangerous, brutal, murderers. But it also means that he is now alone against three of them, who won't hesitate to add another murder to the growing list. The only chance he has to get out of this alive is to play along and shoot me. That way, at least he'll have enough evidence for a case against them. Somehow that doesn't really comfort me.

"Pick it up." Fargo crosses over to where Starsky stands, and suddenly I realize that he hasn't said a word yet since the IA man arrived. He just looks at him, and I wonder what goes on behind those unreadable blue eyes. "I know what you're thinking..." Yeah, and what would that be? "...it's murder. All right. But it is also righting a wrong. Look upon it as a necessary evil, a greater good. This man's life, to save all the lives that would be forfeited if he were to continue to twist the law to protect the guilty scum he calls clients." Fargo's voice got louder and more insistent towards the end, and I want to scream in terror, protest against the accusations he makes against me. Is this really how people see me, as somebody - some_thing_ - that gets in the way of real justice? More importantly, are they right? Am I really as guilty as the people I defend? But that's my job... And is this how Starsky feels about me, too? Will he be able to justify killing me with these arguments?

"Starsky, it's either you or him. And either way he gets it." Now this last one would convince me if I was Starsky. Question is, will it convince him?

Obviously, it does. He slowly walks over to where the gun lies in the dirt, stoops and picks it up. Still this eerie, unhurried calm. He doesn't look like a man who is either going to kill or be killed in the next few minutes. As he picks up the gun, he checks the bullet in the cylinder, then with a quick flick of his wrist snaps it closed. His voice and face give nothing of whatever is going on inside away as he points his right forefinger at me. "Don't move." I try to voice my protest, but my words are muffled by the now sweat soaked gag. He comes closer, walking slowly, almost leisurely. Again, the finger pointed at me, this time his voice sounds slightly menacing. "Don't move." I wish I could read his mind, could guess his intentions. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm better off still clinging to a tiny shred of hope, instead of knowing for sure that there is not hope.

He is now so close that he can almost touch me. Part of me knows that he will order me to my knees now, put the gun to my head and pull the trigger. But another part still can't believe that a good cop like Starsky would do that. He's not really a vigilante, I tell myself. He's undercover, trying to find the murderers. On the other hand, he has no reason to give his life for me. And I still can't read the expression of his face. Then, once again the warning. "Don't." Then, in a split second everything changes. From unhurried and cool, he turns into a cougar ready to pounce. What I thought was a completely relaxed stance had obviously been his way of preparing for action - muscles tightly coiled and now unleashed, just as he yells, "MOVE! Get away from here!"

More out of instinct than actually obeying him, I turn around and start running faster than ever before in my life. No wonder, I'm running for my life here. But I'm still not fast enough, I can tell that Starsky could overtake me easily, although I run as fast as I can. It's just that I've never been much of a runner to begin with, and right now my legs are rubber. But Starsky has my back. There is yelling behind me, and gunshots, and running feet. Don't tell me how, but I know that somehow he's covering for me so I can run. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register the engine of an approaching car, brakes, and a car door slamming. Then there is a gunfight, somewhere behind us. Could that mean that the cavalry is here?

But I don't have time to think about it. Suddenly, Starsky grabs me and pushes me into a nook in the tunnel wall where I'm out of sight. And that was my luck, too. By now I am so exhausted and out of breath that I'm hardly able to put one foot in front of the other. And I never would have seen this niche. Across from me, Starsky hides in another niche that is partly concealed by a few barrels. I know he is preparing to fight his way - _our_ way - out of this, but I have no idea how he ever hopes to accomplish this. All he has is one bullet, and there are still three of them, with virtually unlimited ammunition.

Then I hear somebody back at the squad car yell, "All right, all right!" A noise like something metal being tossed to the ground. A gun? Another voice answers, "Hold it!" and I really wish I could see what is going on back there.

Then I can no longer pay attention. A shadow is creeping closer, a shadow holding a gun. Fargo's shadow.

What happens next is hard to believe. There is a slight noise, like something small, hard, falling. Fargo spins around, aims his gun somewhere away from both Starsky and me, and fires. Before he can do anything else, Starsky is there. Down on one knee to make a smaller target, gun in both hands in a classic shooting stance. His arms don't waver, his aim is steady. His voice is cool, clear, calm, hard. A deadly threat. "Fargo! Take it. I got one."

Now this is something I never would have believed. A man with only one bullet faces another, who has a full magazine. Defending not only himself, but also someone he can't even stand. Me.

And he must be serious enough. Although ammunition wise he has the upper hand, Fargo surrenders. He drops his gun, lifts his hands to his shoulders, and obeys when Starsky tells him to untie me.

And just like that, it's over.

I won't die tonight.

Still can't believe it. Can't believe how close I came. Can't believe it didn't happen.

Can't believe a man like Lt. Fargo would be the head of a band of vicious murderers. Can't believe a man like Sgt. Starsky, who told the world how much he hated my guts would risk his life for me. I realize that he was closer to getting killed than I ever was. He never had any intention to harm me, but at the same time he knew that this would most likely cost him his own life.

Can't believe what he did for me. To think that I actually thought he was involved in the murders - I'm almost ashamed.

Sometimes - not very often, I'll admit - sometimes, I absolutely love to be wrong.

the end


End file.
